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| The Lost Bayou Ramblers perform onstage Sunday, June 15, 2014, during the 8th Annual LA Cajun-Zydeco Festival in Louis Armstrong Park. |
By Rhodesia J. Douglas,
Writer
LOUIS ARMSTRONG PARK, NEW ORLEANS --- What else would it be at a Zydeco fest, but a good time?
Father's Day
A crowd of several hundred revelers were out and about at the 8th Annual LA Cajun-Zydeco Festival, a free, two-day event hosted by the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival.
At 3 p.m., the weather, for this time of year, couldn't have been more perfect: A clear, cloud-covered sky that kept the sun and humidity at bay.
The crowd was comfortable and laid back with people scattered throughout the park.
Some people sat watching from the hilly banks of the park's winding bayou-like pond and one even dosed in his hammock setup between the trees.
Others gathered at the music stage to two-step to the zydeco grooves. Still, others grabbed a bite from the food stands or checked out the artisans lined along each side of the Hollywood palm-arched entrance.
So stunning. And glamorous. Who would have known posing for a picture would invite photo bombing.
But I want you to know that this article is biased: I love Zydeco.
It has a special place in my heart because Acadiana, the heart of Cajun Country, became my place of exile.
Flashback
Wondering why the storm had blown me deeper into this swampy region, I was glad to still be close to home.
The warmth and love of these French-speaking people with their good cooking, zydeco music and amusing jokes, it got me through.
Keith Frank, who by the way was not in the stellar lineup, even had a song for the likes of us, we can weather the storm.
Hearing that, while I traveled back and forth into New Orleans to prepare my family's return, brought me great comfort just as much as corn and crab bisque soup from Prejeans.
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Cajuns were different enough yet vaguely similar enough for me to feel at home. They were distant relatives and we had come home to visit our roots; I had a great grand mother who had traveled from this place.
The origins of so much of our culture were based there - the language and the strange enunciation of words like sink (zink) and corner (cornder).
I am forever grateful to this culture for taking us in until we could finally come back home.
